


Beyond the Melee

by hummerhouse



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Action, Destruction, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-SAINW, Pre-War, Separations, sensual massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.Word Count: 6,095 One shot 2k3Summary: Leatherhead was supposed to return to his family, the Utroms.  Donatello was meant to accept that.Rated: T~~My part of a trade with the incredible LineCrosser.  Happy New Year!





	Beyond the Melee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LineCrosser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LineCrosser/gifts).



            Petty crime was down.  So far down it was almost nonexistent.

            Donatello had been tracking this phenomenon for weeks.  It was fascinating in its oddity, but he wasn’t complaining.  Not needing to patrol gave him time to work on his various projects, one of which was assisting Leatherhead in building a new translocation matrix device.

            One of the turtle brothers _was_ complaining though, and that was Raphael.  He found the drop in petty crime to be highly suspicious.  It wasn’t normal, he argued.  Something was wrong, he contended.  There was no way that criminals just stopped doing what came naturally to them, he claimed.

            Turned out Raphael was right.

            They very nearly learned that the hard way.  Unable to handle sitting around the lair, Raph had taken to meeting up with Casey Jones late at night for the purposes of sleuthing.  If they couldn’t tackle the little fish, they were determined to go after bigger game.

            Their investigations led to a storage facility.  From the outside it appeared innocuous enough, but it was heavily guarded.  Not only were there regular armed security guards, but the entire area was patrolled by Foot soldiers.

            Determined to get a look inside, Raph left Casey at the perimeter to stand watch and then he snuck into the facility.  What he discovered was furniture; sofas, recliners, dining tables and such.  Some crated, some swathed in bubble wrap.

            Perplexed, he began a systematic search.  It would have taken him a long while as the facility was quite large, except that he was there in time to witness the arrival of the Foot Elite guard.

            From a perch atop the rafters, Raph watched them march through the facility until they came to one of the huge support posts.  Touching that post at a certain spot opened the door to an elevator.

            Raphael didn’t stop to think about whether it would be a good idea to follow them or not, he just did it.  Sliding a crate into the elevator, he pressed the only button available and then clung to the ceiling as the car descended.

            When the door slid open, two Foot soldiers were there to greet it.  They expressed little surprise at finding only a crate inside and while they were removing it, Raph dropped from his hiding place and dashed by them unseen.

            The underground portion of the facility was far different from the upper floor.  In one area Raph found a huge stash of weapons, a majority of which were alien in origin.  Another space had been turned into a dojo where future Foot soldiers were being trained.  Some of them he recognized as the petty criminals he frequently encountered.

            Then he discovered the prison cells.  In these he identified drug addicts, the habitually homeless, and others who could be termed as belonging to the underbelly of society.  Each cell had a tag identifying the occupant in terms of whether or not they were responding to treatment.

            Those that could be rehabilitated would join the Foot.  The ones who could not were to be sent to the lab.

            Raphael really did not want to find out what went on in the lab, but he felt compelled to investigate.  The horrors he witnessed would haunt his dreams for a very long time.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.

            Beyond the lab was a furnace room.  The furnace itself took up nearly the entire space and appeared to provide power to the facility.  What they were burning further sickened Raphael.

            The fuel consisted of human remains.

            It took every bit of Raph’s control not to fly into a destructive rage.  The only thing that stopped him when he started to see red was the fact that Casey was outside and had no clue to the dangers inside the facility.

            That instinct to protect his friend and the fact that it would be prudent to tackle the situation with as much backup as possible kept Raph silent.  He carefully made his way back to the elevator and was then faced with a dilemma; how was he going to get inside without being seen?

            He couldn’t.  The two soldiers were back in place, one to either side of the door.  Raph might take one out silently, but not both.  Not unless he moved very, very quickly.

            As fast as he was, Raph didn’t quite make it.  One soldier went down without a sound, but the other was much better trained than the Foot soldiers Raph normally encountered.  This one managed to set off an alarm before Raph knocked him out.

            Raph got the elevator door closed just as a contingent of soldiers and guards came running in his direction.  As the elevator ascended, Raph readied his sai, fully expecting to run headlong into an armed force.

            When the doors opened, there were three guards waiting.  They must not have been told that it was one of the turtles who was making a break for it, because they hadn’t drawn their weapons.

            Raphael barreled into them at full force.  The fight was over almost before it had begun, in fact, Raph was so fast that the elevator door was only just starting to close again.

            Grabbing one of the guards’ guns, Raph jammed it into the car sill so that the door wouldn’t shut.  It was a temporary fix, one that wouldn’t last if other soldiers showed up before Raph could make his escape.

            Suspicious now of the crates, Raph quickly pried the top from one that was nearby.  Inside were more weapons and he realized that’s what was probably in most of the crates.  These happened to be Triceraton energy blasters and he remembered how simple they were to destroy.

            Setting one to overload, Raph tossed it into the elevator and the pulled the gun out of the way.  The door closed and the elevator began its descent.  It was probably halfway down when the blaster exploded.

            Raphael made his way up into the rafters, getting there just as Foot soldiers began to stream into the facility from outside.  He climbed out onto the roof, thinking that with all of them inside, he’d easily get to the containment fence and then over to where Casey was waiting.

            The only problem with that plan was that the area around the facility was flooded with both light and other Foot soldiers.

            Fortunately for Raph, Casey had heard the alarm sound and seen the Foot gathering around the facility.  His quick call to Leonardo brought the other turtles to the scene.

            With the aid of the weaponry that Donatello had built into the moving van, the turtles were able to help Raphael make his escape.  They also managed to destroy a good portion of the weapons stash before getting away from the area.

            As they were driving off, a helicopter landed.  From the rear window of the van, Leonardo watched as Karai disembarked and began shouting orders.

            Upon arriving at the lair, the turtles discovered that Master Splinter had called both April O’Neil and Leatherhead, on the chance that their assistance would be required.  Thus it was that Raphael told his story to a full audience.

            When he finished there was a moment of total silence.

            Donatello was the first to speak.  “What is Karai up to?  It sounds as if she’s building an army and getting ready to go to war.  That’s not her style.”

            “We sure as shell know whose style it _is_ ,” Raph said in a biting tone.

            “He’s gone,” Leo said.  “Long gone.  Exiled to an ice asteroid in the far reaches of space where no one could find him.”

            A low rumble sounded in the back of Leatherhead’s throat. All eyes turned to him.

            “I have had intermittent communications with the Utroms,” Leatherhead said.  “The connection has been through the transmat device I am attempting to build, and it is sporadic at best.  In our last conversation, Mortu expressed concern over unrest on Tunella Five.  That was at one time a stronghold of the Shredder’s allies.”

            “I’m not liking these signs,” Mikey said.  “Is the Shredder back?  Did someone rescue him?”

            “If the Shredder had returned, we would have heard of it,” Leo said.  “He would have had Karai down here looking for us.”

            “After we foiled his plans for galaxy domination, there’s no way he wouldn’t come after us first thing,” Don said.

            “So what’s the deal, is little Miss Foot following in her daddy’s footsteps?” Raph asked.

            “Karai would certainly continue his legacy here on Earth, but she has no interest in space,” Master Splinter said.  “I must agree with Donatello, this new undertaking is not her ‘style’.  If there is a connection between her activities and the unrest of which our friend Mortu has spoken, then its roots begin with the Shredder.”

            None of them had a clue as to how right Master Splinter was.

            Whatever peace had settled between the mutants and Karai after the defeat of the Tengu Shredder had been shattered by the turtles’ raid on the storage facility.  Life became a series of running skirmishes, with Karai and her forces searching for the turtle brothers and their new lair.

            For their part, the brothers worked almost without rest trying to find and destroy every possible location that Karai might use to store her weapons of destruction.  The fear that she might also be creating another intergalactic spaceship weighed heavily on their minds, and though there were clues that such was the case, the ship could not be found.

            Leatherhead assisted them as often as he could.  His concern over the news he was receiving from the Utrom homeworld made him anxious to complete the transmat.  He kept his friends apprised of the events as he learned of them from Mortu, but their communications were infrequent.

            When Donatello wasn’t battling Karai and her minions with his brothers, he spent his time with Leatherhead.  The pair had grown extremely close.  Don attempted to maintain an upbeat persona as he worked alongside his crocodilian friend, but in truth he was very sad knowing that Leatherhead would be leaving as soon as he could.

            Several months after discovering what Karai was up to, Leatherhead pronounced the transmat device to be complete.  Donatello was with him, helping to put the finishing touches on the device and preparing it for operation.

            Leatherhead had said his goodbyes the evening before during a small sendoff party that Michelangelo had insisted upon throwing.  It was a solemn affair, though Mikey did his best to liven the atmosphere.  The danger from Karai was very real and both Leo and Raph were nursing serious wounds.

There were many mixed emotions among the group in attendance; sadness at seeing a friend leave, worry over losing such a valuable ally, and happiness for Leatherhead and his imminent reunification with the Utroms.

            Donatello’s emotions ran far deeper than any of those.  It was because of how he felt that he insisted on going alone to see Leatherhead off.  He did not want anyone in his family to know the extent of his feelings for the big guy.  They would tease him mercilessly, and Don would not have taken it well.

            Together, Leatherhead and Don had done several test runs, powering up the transmat, checking the stabilization, and then recalibrating as necessary.  Finally it was in perfect working order.

            It was then that Leatherhead faced his friend, pulling Don’s attention from his work.

            “Donatello, there is something I did not want to share with your family and I am hesitant to tell even you,” Leatherhead said.  “But you are more to me than just a friend and colleague, and you deserve to know.  My last correspondence with Mortu was in the form of a distress signal.  The Utrom homeworld is under attack.”

            “Under attack?  By whom?  When did you speak to Mortu?” Don asked.

            “The communication was badly distorted, but I clearly heard him mention Ch’rell,” Leatherhead said.  “I am afraid that the evil Utrom we have come to know as the Shredder has indeed somehow escaped his exile.”

            “No doubt with help from his allies,” Don said.  Then he frowned.  “You’re going to be returning to a civil war, Leatherhead.  The situation could be extremely dangerous.”

            “I must go back to help my family,” Leatherhead told him.  “I had hoped that . . . .”  He sighed.  “It was my hope that once we had determined that the transmat was fully functional and safe, you would agree to come for a visit.  Your last trip to the Utrom homeworld was not auspicious.  You were injured and worried.  If you could have visited again, I would have introduced you to many wonders.”

            “I would have enjoyed that,” Don said.  “Maybe my brothers and I should travel with you now.  If the Shredder is menacing the Utroms, we’d be a big help in fighting . . . .”

            Leatherhead was shaking his head.  “No.  It is not something I could ask of you or your family.  You are needed here.  Ch’rell has allies on many planets, one of which is Earth.  The four of you will do the most good by thwarting Karai’s plans.  Prevent her from providing that monster with weaponry and troops.  They must not be allowed to subjugate the people of this planet.”

            Though Donatello knew what his friend said made sense, he couldn’t help but selfishly want Leatherhead to stay.  Don could already feel the dread growing inside of him.  It was bad enough when Leatherhead was simply returning to the aliens he identified as family, at least he would be safe.  There were no assurances of that now.  This might even be the last time Don would ever see Leatherhead alive.

            Don had just opened his mouth to express his true thoughts when the ground under their feet shook.  It lasted only a second, but it was violent enough to loosen bricks from the wall and to open small fissures in the concrete floor.

            “What the shell was that?” Don asked.

            “I do not know,” Leatherhead replied.  He walked over to the transmat device and checked the readings.  “The power output continues to be stable.  I hope we do not have another disruption.”

            He’d barely finished uttering those sentiments when there was another tremor, this time much harder than the first.  The bricks on one of the far walls suddenly blew inwards, leaving a gaping hole.

            Through the dust and debris a lone figure emerged.  It was Karai, dressed fully in armor resembling the Shredder’s.

            Foot soldiers streamed out of the tunnels and fanned out around her.  Many held Triceraton energy blasters.  They did not move, clearly waiting for an order from their Master.

            “I had hoped to find your new lair, but this will do nicely,” Karai said, in a voice filled with hatred as she looked directly at Donatello.  “We did not recognize the energy signature coming from deep within the tunnels, but our scientists were quite excited by it.  I now see that you and the other mutant freak have built a transmat device.  My Master, the Shredder, will be pleased.  He has been searching the Utrom homeworld trying to find one.”

            “She must not be allowed to turn this device over to the Shredder,” Leatherhead said, his voice low.  “He will wreak havoc throughout the universe if the transmat falls under his control.”

            “I’ll set it to self-destruct after I beam you out of here,” Don said.  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll use the escape tunnel once you’re gone.”

            “Donatello . . . .” Leatherhead began.

            “Don’t argue,” Don said.  “We have to move fast.”

            It was only the fact that Karai knew Donatello well enough to expect him to try to talk his way out of the situation that gave him the element of surprise.  He said not one word, instead spinning around and darting to the transmat control panel.

            The device, already powered up, gave a loud whine as the dematerialization beam shimmered in the overhead port.  Leatherhead ran onto the platform just as it was flooded with light.

            Donatello swiftly pressed in the code sequence that would cause the transmat to self-destruct and then chanced a quick final glance at Leatherhead.  His friend smiled at him, but the smile did not reach his eyes.  In them Donatello saw great sadness.

            At that moment Donatello also saw Karai snatch an energy blaster from one of her soldiers and aim it at Leatherhead.

            “NO!”

            There was no thought to his action, Donatello merely sprang onto the platform and directly in front of the blast.

            The last things he remembered were searing pain all along his carapace and the sound of Leatherhead’s roar.

            Don fully expected that blast had put an end to his life.  It came as quite a surprise when he felt himself draw in oxygen to fill his lungs and then felt the movement of his chest as he expelled carbon dioxide.

            Along with the movement came immense pain.

            His groan seemed to signal someone waiting nearby.  Though there was a light ringing in his ears, Don still heard the heavy thump of approaching footsteps.  With an effort, he pried open his eyes to see Leatherhead bending over him.

            “Do not try to move, Donatello,” Leatherhead said, stroking his cheek with a gentle touch.  “You are healing.”

            Don wanted to talk, needed to ask questions, but all he could produce was a weak grunt.

            Leatherhead’s hand moved to a spot somewhere above Don.  “I am introducing a sleep aid into your system,” he explained.  “There is pain medication in the sedative.  You must be absolutely still.”

            Whatever Leatherhead was giving him worked quickly.  Don’s eyelids became heavy and slid shut.  With every ounce of remaining energy, he managed to ask, “What . . . happened?”

            “We will talk of it later,” Leatherhead said in a reassuring tone.  “Sleep now, my love.”

            A smile touched the corners of Don’s lips as he slipped into unconsciousness.

            When Don next awoke he immediately sensed that he’d been moved.  Before, he could not feel whatever he had been lying upon, but now the sheet under him scratched against the skin on his legs.

            Still, there was none of the excruciating pain he expected to experience from the pressure against his carapace.  Taking that as a good sign, Don tried to move but found that none of his limbs responded to commands.

            Before he could think to panic, a soft rumble drew his attention and he found Leatherhead standing next to him.

            “You are in a stasis chamber,” Leatherhead said.  “The bed is made of a gel that conforms to your body so that there is no great pressure on your frame.  The stasis device prevents sudden movements.”

            “My legs . . . .” Don began and then stopped, afraid to ask the question.

            “Are fully functional,” Leatherhead assured him.

            “Where are we?” Don asked.  “What happened?”

            “We are on the Utrom homeworld.  The transmat engaged just as you were hit by the laser blast,” Leatherhead said.  “The energy discharge hit your staff and then your hard shell dispersed the force of the blast across a broader surface area.  This is most likely what saved your life.  I am afraid you will need a new staff.”

            Don started to laugh and then thought better of it as pain lanced through his ribs.  “I don’t care about the staff,” he said.  “What’s happening now?  How long was I out?”

            “You have been unconscious for over two weeks,” Leatherhead said, leaning closer.  “Even with access to the Utrom’s advanced technology, healing takes time.”

            There was something different about Leatherhead’s face.  Don’s focus was off a little, so he closed his eyes and then slowly reopened them so that his vision would clear.  It was then he saw the burn marks across the upper portion of Leatherhead’s snout.

            “Leatherhead, your face!” Don exclaimed.  He desperately wanted to reach out and touch the crocodile, but his arms couldn’t move.

            “It is nothing,” Leatherhead told him.  “I was inside the blast radius as I reached for you.  That monster Bishop has done far worse to me.”

            “You’ll have a scar,” Don said, thinking about the healing process and the amount of time that had passed.  Time!  “Leatherhead, turn off the stasis field, I need to get up!”

            Shaking his head, Leatherhead said, “You must not move, Donatello.  Your carapace was damaged and requires time to fully heal.”

            “I can’t be worried about that right now,” Don said.  “Karai found your lair two weeks ago.  My family, my friends, they need me.  She might have attacked them already.  I have to use the transmat to go home.”

            Leatherhead’s tone was soft as he said, “The Shredder’s forces struck the operations center soon after you and I arrived.  With Mortu’s assistance, I was able to move you to safety, but the transmat device had to be destroyed.  We could not risk having it fall under Ch’rell’s control.”

            Don exhaled slowly, his heart sinking.  “I wonder if my brothers know what happened to us.  Do they think we’re dead or held captive?  They’ll hunt for us and put themselves into even greater danger.  Is there no way for me to get even a message to them?”

            “Communications across the entirety of the homeworld have been disrupted,” Leatherhead said.  “There is heavy fighting all around us.  I am doing what I can to help from here, but supplies are limited, and I will not leave your side to search for more.  Do not even think to ask that of me.”

            _“My love”_ floated through Don’s memory.  He thought he might have dreamt that Leatherhead had said it, believing his dreams to have been influenced by his own feelings for the big croc.  Hope flared in his heart and pushed aside some of his pain.  Maybe it hadn’t been his imagination after all.

            Don wanted to know for certain, but there was no way he’d pursue the subject while flat on his shell and certainly not when faced with catastrophe on a galactic scale.

            “I’m so worried, LH,” Don whispered, staring helplessly into the croc’s eyes.

            “As am I,” Leatherhead responded.  “We must accept that we can do nothing at the moment and focus our attention on the healing process.  Sleep now.  I will be nearby if you need me.”

            Donatello desperately wanted to argue the point, but their conversation had already drained him.  He was asleep in minutes.

            For the next week Don remained immobilized and sustained through tubes.  His wakeful periods became longer and Leatherhead kept him apprised of the ongoing battle.  It was not faring well for the peaceful Utroms.

            The stasis field was finally lowered and with Leatherhead’s assistance, Don carefully moved his limbs.  He was panting from the exertion after only a few minutes and shaking, he clung to Leatherhead, drawing strength from him.

            “Lie back, Donatello,” Leatherhead urged, helping Don return to his prone position.  “Your muscles are tight from disuse.  I have a warming salve that will help to loosen them.”

            Don was still trying to get his breathing under control when Leatherhead returned.  In his hands was a small tub and from it he scooped out a palm full of a clear, odorless salve.

            Leatherhead spread the salve along one of Don’s arms.  Lifting Don’s arm and bracing it against his chest, he began to carefully knead the muscles from the top of the turtle’s shoulder to the tips of his fingers.

            It felt so good that Don sighed audibly.  Leatherhead smiled and their eyes met.  Words that Don had been trying for months to figure out how to say seemed unnecessary as he gazed deeply into the crocodile’s intelligent orbs.

            His arm was nice and loose when Leatherhead set it down and moved around the bed to work on the other one.  Through heavy lids, Donatello watched as Leatherhead ministered to him, working the tightness from muscles that were uncomfortably stiff.

            Donatello knew that despite his large hands, Leatherhead was very dexterous.  He could work with the smallest of components and tools, never breaking a single thing.  Those hands felt remarkable as they kneaded his muscles, working out all of the uncomfortable knots.

            When he had finished with Donatello’s arms, Leatherhead moved down to his legs.  He began on Don’s feet, moving from one to the other, working his toes, arches, and heels until they were tingling.

            After carefully cleaning his hands, Leatherhead applied salve to the lower parts of both of Donatello’s legs.  Leatherhead’s large hands easily gripped Don’s solid calves.  He squeezed and massaged them until they no longer felt as though they’d spasm when Don moved his feet back and forth.

            “Does this help you to feel better?” Leatherhead asked, as he paused in his ministrations.

            “You feel amazing.”  The answer came out sounding like a moan and Don felt his face heating up.  “I . . .I mean _it_ feels great.”

            Leatherhead’s eyes gleamed with good humor and a touch of something deeper, more intimate.  “Shall I continue?”

            It was all Don could do not to just scream _‘yes’_ , but he managed to restrain the impulse.  “Please do,” he said politely.  “The massage is taking away the stiffness and cramping.”

            As soon as Leatherhead began to rub salve into his thighs, Don realized he needed to focus on something else.  He thought about how much time had passed since he’d been inadvertently transported to the Utrom homeworld.  Nearly a month had gone by and he knew his family would be frantic.

            Suddenly Leatherhead’s hands stopped and when Don glanced up, he saw that his friend was staring at him.

            “What is wrong?  Am I hurting you?” Leatherhead asked with concern.

            “No,” Don said quickly.  “Sorry.  I was thinking about my family.  Karai found us in the tunnels before, found and destroyed our previous lair.  Nearly destroyed us in the process.  If my security devices fail and I’m not there to monitor them . . . .”

            “I am worried for them too,” Leatherhead said when Don’s words trailed off.  “Let us approach our dilemma in a practical manner.  Between us we have the knowledge to build a transmat device, it is merely a matter of finding a secure location and the necessary parts.”

            “Agreed,” Don said when he saw that Leatherhead was expecting a response.

            “In the interim, we could perhaps fashion some means of communicating with your brothers,” Leatherhead said.  “Your new lair is far from where mine was located.  As Karai told us, the only way that she found my home was due to the energy signature given off during our test of the transmat device.”

            Don took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.  “So she probably hasn’t found my family.”

            “From the increased fighting here, I suspect that the Shredder is making a push to defeat those planets whose inhabitants have the technology and knowledge to fight back.  His focus will not be on Earth, though I believe he, if successful, would make that his central base of operations,” Leatherhead said.  “That being the case, he will have Karai continue her recruitment and training drive.  He has always underestimated you turtles and will most likely consider you inconsequential.”

            “You’re trying to ease my worries by telling me that the Shredder won’t bother looking for my brothers,” Don said.  “I appreciate that, but the reason he won’t be looking for them is that he has Karai making a push towards enslaving the Earth.  That doesn’t exactly lower my stress level.”

            Leatherhead gently caressed the outside of Don’s thigh.  “I am trying to tell you that we can achieve the most good by doing what we are best at, but only after you are back on your feet.  After you have _healed_. We should focus on what we can do, rather than to worry about what we cannot.”

            “Now you sound like Master Splinter,” Don said with a shaky laugh.

            “Who better to learn from?” Leatherhead countered.  “Now you must concentrate on your own body.  Visualize what is not working properly and tell me how to help you fix that.”

            Donatello hesitated, but Leatherhead was carefully watching him.  What he needed also happened to be something he dearly wanted, and that fact embarrassed him.

            Dissembling wasn’t going to work, so Don chose to be honest.  “Keep doing what you were doing.  I don’t want to be stuck in this bed for any longer than necessary.”

            Nodding his understanding, Leatherhead once more stroked the outside of Donatello’s thigh, this time spreading the warming gel.  He began rubbing it into Don’s skin, working his way from the vastus lateralis muscle at the side to the rectus femoris muscle on top.

            While Leatherhead concentrated on removing the knots that had formed, Don tried to think in clinical terms of his own musculature.  He was hoping that assigning the proper names to the muscle groups would help him not to think too much about where Leatherhead’s hands were.

            When Leatherhead’s hands slid up so that the claws on his fingertips lightly brushed the spot where Don’s leg and lower torso were connected, it was all the turtle could do not to gasp.  His tail began to quiver and Don had to bite his lip as he willed it to remain still.

            “Is this painful?” Leatherhead asked.

            “N . . . no,” Don answered and then mentally kicked himself for stammering.  “I’m telling myself to relax and not tense up as you work.”

            It was the truth, sort of.  Leatherhead tilted his head as though studying his friend.  It was both captivating in an endearing sort of way and infuriating at the same time.

            “Have you and your brothers never given one another a massage?” Leatherhead asked.

            “Well . . . yes,” Don admitted.  His face began to heat up again.  “It’s just different.”

            “Ah, I understand,” Leatherhead said and returned to his task.

            From his expression, Don was very much afraid that he did understand.  _“My love”_ floated through his head once more.

            Don almost sighed in relief when Leatherhead moved on to his other leg.  That relief was short lived.  Leatherhead’s hands were so strong and sure that they were doing a wonderful job of relieving the muscle tension, but every touch felt very sensual as well.

            Closing his eyes, Don tried to focus on his breathing, sending oxygen to where it was most needed and calming himself at the same time.  That worked until the fingers on both of Leatherhead’s hands dipped between Don’s thighs to separate them.

            “I need to work on these muscles too,” Leatherhead said when he felt Don resist.

            “Sorry,” Don said, slightly breathless.  He opened his legs a little and then when he heard Leatherhead’s small snort, Don spread his legs farther apart.

            As Leatherhead smeared the gel along his inner thighs, Don swore he could feel its warmth traveling straight to his nether regions.  Don expected that Leatherhead would work on one leg at a time as he’d been doing, but instead the large croc leaned over and massaged both thighs simultaneously.

            Don’s focus went right out the window.  Every lesson he’d learned about centering himself vanished as Leatherhead’s hands slid along his skin, grazing the crease between thighs and lower torso before moving back down again.

            Despite his best efforts, Don’s tail thumped heavily against the bedding, growing thick as the warmth began to spread into unintended areas.  Or maybe Leatherhead meant to excite him.  Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

            Don churred.

            Leatherhead’s hands stopped moving, but he didn’t take them from Don’s thighs.  Slowly opening his eyes, Don saw that Leatherhead was staring at him.

            Deeply embarrassed, Don tried to find a way to cover his faux pas.  He opened his mouth to speak and so did Leatherhead.

            “I’m so sorry, that was inapproapria  . . . .” Don began.

            “I was hoping to elicit that respon . . . .” Leatherhead said at the same time.

            Both paused in mid-sentence.  Don licked his lips.  “When I first woke, I could have sworn I heard you refer to me as ‘my love’.”

            Leatherhead cleared his throat.  “You did not imagine it.”

            “Because I _wanted_ to hear you say something like that,” Don continued, almost as if Leatherhead hadn’t spoken.  “I’ve wanted that for a while now.”

            “As have I,” Leatherhead told him.  “It seemed . . . wrong to pursue my desires.  I was going to leave and you . . . deserve better.”

            Don frowned.  “How can you say that?  Meeting you has been the best thing to ever happen to me.  I never said anything because I knew you wanted to return to your family.”

            “You are family too,” Leatherhead said, reaching out to cup Don’s face.  “Your family is my family.  I will be happy wherever you are.”

            “In my day dreams I’ve heard you say that a million times,” Don said.  Laughing unsteadily, he added, “Confessions from a cripple’s bed.”

            “You are not crippled, merely injured,” Leatherhead said.  “Soon you will be healthy and strong.  Together we will join the fight and . . . . “

            Before he could finish the door slid open.  Mortu, minus his exoskeleton, floated into the room.  Utrom faces were expressive and though Mortu was a leader and not prone to histrionics, it was clear that he was agitated.

            “We must move,” Mortu said, “and quickly.  Shredder’s forces have found this location.  I must get the two of you to safety.”

            A loud explosion emphasized his words.  Leatherhead swiftly scooped Donatello up off the bed, ignoring the turtle’s protests that he was able to walk.

            Don couldn’t have run though and it turned out that they had to.  The few Guardians who had not already perished ran along behind them, fighting hard to hold back the insurgents.

            It seemed like hours passed as the small group fled from the battle.  They wound deeper into the core of the planet, far below the surface into chambers long in disuse.

            When they had finally reached relative safety, it was inside an old techno organic chamber.  By manipulating a control panel, Mortu was able to create a bed for Donatello to lie down on.

            Don insisted on walking to the bed and getting onto it by himself.  He managed only a few steps before his brain and legs seemed to stop communicating.

            Leatherhead caught him as he fell.  Lifting him onto the bed, Leatherhead watched with deep concern as Don pulled in long, gasping breaths.

            “I can’t . . . feel my . . . legs,” Don finally managed.

            Pressing a calming hand to Don’s forehead, Leatherhead said, “You have not fully healed.  Trust me, my love, there is no damage of a permanent nature.”

            “How can I fight?  How can I help anyone from this position?” Don practically wailed.

            “We do not need for you to fight,” Mortu said, hovering close to the bed.  “We need the knowledge about the transmat that both you and Leatherhead retain.  If we are to have any chance against Shredder, if we are to survive, we need to replicate that device.”

            The leader of the Guardians approached.  “The Shredder’s forces have been repelled for the moment.  None saw where we fled.  Our people are scattered.  What do you wish to do?”

            “Leave two Guardians here to protect Leatherhead and Donatello,” Mortu said.  “We must regroup.”

            Bowing, the Guardian leader left the room.  “My people will bring whatever is necessary to aid in your recovery,” he told Donatello.  “They will bring supplies.  If we do not see one another again, I want to thank you in advance for whatever efforts you can make towards ending this war.”

            He left before either of them could reply.  Leatherhead and Donatello looked at one another, each reading in the other’s face a reality that was all too clear.

            “Shredder is winning,” Don said in a near whisper.

            Leatherhead pulled him up into his arms, holding Donatello close against his chest.

            “For now, only for now,” Leatherhead rumbled soothingly.

            Perhaps that was true.  But now was a very long time.  It was without measure.

            “At least we are together,” Don murmured, clutching at Leatherhead.  “Even if we can’t join the fight.”

            They continued to hold one another, each lost in their own thoughts of family and friends.  Those they had lost and those they would probably still lose.

            Tears spilled down Donatello’s cheeks.  Leatherhead held him tighter.

 

End


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